


Feeling Younger (Better Than Wiser)

by mardia



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Awkward Crush, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: Inspired by a couple of tumblr prompts that amount to: what if Nightingale started de-aging because he feels like an awkward teenager again (and that might have more to do with Peter than he'd like to admit.) Originally posted on tumblr.





	Feeling Younger (Better Than Wiser)

**Author's Note:**

> Been meaning to post this on AO3 for ages and have finally gotten around to it. Title is from Ladyhawke's Better Than Sunday. Original tumblr post is here: http://themardia.tumblr.com/post/159458722336/sixth-light-mostlyscrutable-replied-to

“I still don’t see why we have to go to Tyburn,” Thomas says as stiffly as he can, although from the side glance Peter gives him, it still comes out perilously close to a whine.

“In terms of immortal beings who’ve gone backwards in the aging process, it’s you, Tyburn, and Varvara–and I don’t fancy trying to explain to the warden at Holloway prison why I’m trying to get a teenager in to see one of their most dangerous prisoners,” Peter explains, reasonably.

Thomas huffs a little but doesn’t argue the point. As he shifts about in his seat, trying to get comfortable–was he so gangly the last time around? Surely it wasn’t so bad when he was actually sixteen–he becomes aware that Peter is still glancing over at him from the driver’s seat.

The next time he looks over, Thomas raises his eyebrows–Peter looks a little abashed but admits, “Sorry, it’s just weird seeing you…like this.”

Thomas resists, but just barely, the urge to hunch lower. But Peter continues, “You’re just so… _cute_.”

“I beg your pardon?” Thomas says. “I certainly am not.”

Instead of looking properly apologetic, Peter just laughs. This state of affairs is doing nothing to curb Peter’s cheeky tendencies towards insubordination–not when Thomas now looks over a decade younger than Peter, barely old enough to shave and not old enough to buy a pint. “You really are,” he says, giving Thomas a smile that is amused and fond in equal measure, his eyes lighting up–and Thomas can feel his entire face going hot at seeing that smile turned in his direction, this is _wretched_.

“I mean, between the hair and the constant blushing–”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Thomas demands, lifting a hand to flatten it. “And I’m not blushing.”

“You really are, your cheeks are as red as poppies,” Peter points out, which hardly helps matters. “And you’ve got that whole young, floppy-haired thing happening–it’s cute. Disarming. I bet Tyburn won’t be able to resist helping us, once she sees that innocent face of yours.”

Peter gives Thomas another bright smile at this, teeth flashing white in his handsome face, and Thomas sinks lower in his seat and uselessly counts the seconds until he feels the heat in his cheeks slowly start to fade.

*

Thomas has always had–he believes–a healthy respect for Tyburn’s intelligence and abilities, but even he couldn’t have predicted just how little time it takes her to work out the heart of the issue.

To give her credit–a very _little_ credit–Tyburn doesn’t actually burst out laughing right there at the table. Her lips trembling, Tyburn looks across the kitchen table at Peter and says, her voice only wavering a little from suppressed laughter, “Peter, could you give the two of us a minute?”

To give him credit, Peter immediately looks over to Thomas to see how he takes the idea. Thomas nods, as dignified as he can be with Tyburn silently snickering at his predicament, “It’ll just be a moment.”

“All right,” Peter says, clapping a hand on Thomas’s shoulder for encouragement, his hand warm and firm even through the fabric of Thomas’s jumper. “I’ll be outside in the garden, if that’s okay?”

His traitorous cheeks aflame, Thomas just nods. Peter nods to Tyburn and heads off through the door.

Tyburn, Thomas can’t help but note, makes a point of watching Peter leave, turning her head in a not even remotely subtle way. Quite rude of her, really. And all right, even if Thomas might also be watching Peter go, there’s no reason for her to be so obvious about it.

Of course, then Tyburn turns to face him, sporting an amused–and fantastically wicked–smile. “Well, I’ll give you this much,” she says, knowing and amused, and Thomas knows what’s coming even before she says anything else. “Your apprentice does look _remarkably_ fit in those tight jeans, doesn’t he?”

“Cecelia,” Thomas says, and it’s not only his newfound youth that’s causing his voice to be so strangled, “if we could please refrain from–”

“Oh, I really think we can’t refrain,” Tyburn says, and the enjoyment in her voice is just too much, it honestly is. “Or at least I can’t, and apparently neither can you.”

Thomas gives up on discretion, and hides his hot face in his hand while Tyburn laughs.

Not that it matters, he knows. Even now, his ears and the back of his neck are practically glowing from the strength of his blushing.

God, he _hates_ being sixteen again.


End file.
